


A Tired Decision

by sinmccoppins (kentmccoppins)



Category: Iron Giant (1999), Scooby Doo - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Porn, Blow Jobs, Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M, Not Beta Read, Porn With Plot, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, it's a long story just roll with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kentmccoppins/pseuds/sinmccoppins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where soulmates are determined by timers on wrists, Kent and Fred, now in his twenties and pursing a career as a police officer, find themselves destined to spend the rest of their lives together. The problem is that neither can stand the other and it has put tremendous strain on their relationship. However, as things wore on, the two find themselves increasingly forced to care about one another as fighting grows more tiresome. This leads to a decision to be made bred out of emotional exhaustion-- and desperation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tired Decision

**Author's Note:**

> This is based heavily off of interactions on my role play blog, bupagentkent, with fellow user groovyascot. This piece makes much more sense with the context provided there, but with the summary I hope I have shed enough background information to make this pairing... Somewhat less brain-hurting.

Kent and Fred had always talked about the possibility of sex, but it hadn’t gone further than that. Talk.

Surprisingly, it was always Fred who would mention it first. He would never outright say the word, but Kent knew what he referred to. Kent hadn’t brought it up since they had first kissed; in fact he rarely “brought things up”. He was still afraid of pushing Fred too far. And talk about sex seemed to be the perfect way to make him snap, so Kent avoided the topic whenever he could.

“You aren’t ready yet,” Kent would say. Be it either in flat concern, veiled weakly behind a joke, or whispered after a kiss, he would tell Fred that he wasn’t ready. In truth, neither of them were. Neither knew or understood the mechanics of pleasing another man– and Kent’s emotions were so out of whack that he could not wrap his head around consummating their relationship. And what, if anything, would they be committing to? A life together filled with hate, fear, and rough, chalky affection?

It was during another lazy night watching television that Kent realized he had no other choice. There was no way that their relationship was platonic; Fred himself had said so. They could appeal their case in court– a muddy, shifty affair that not even Kent fully understood –but he felt his heart constrict at the thought. While he could not imagine spending his life with Fred, he could not imagining having to leave him. He turned to the man sitting beside him.

He was all compassion and joy, intelligence and warmth, resting in that sturdy and trained police officer. Kent sighed.  _We’ve both got blue eyes_ , he realized. He huffed a little laugh. That blonde hair– that had kept him from realizing it. Fred turned to him after noticing Kent had shifted under him.

“What?” he asked. Kent pat his hand against Fred’s upper abdomen gently and uncoiled the arm looped underneath Fred’s own. They always sat close together like this after dinner to let images from the television erase whatever troubles the day had thrown at them. It was the sort of affection that they fell into because they were too tired to build barriers to prevent it.

“It’s getting late,” Kent sighed. With his free hand he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I know your drive home isn’t long but…” Fred nodded obligingly. Awkwardly, they stood up. Sitting down for so long left Kent a little weak in the knees. Fred ambled over to the front door. Kent watched him for a brief moment before heading to his bedroom.

All he preferred to sleep in was his undershirt and boxers, so he started stripping down. Fred had a key to his home (courtesy of the government itself) and could lock the door behind him as he left. He  _could_.

Kent was out of his over clothes and trying to remember if he had spare floss in his medicine cabinet when he heard Fred walk up behind him. He always wondered how he solved any mysteries with a stride as heavy as his. Kent turned around slightly, trying to roll out tension in his back and grunting with the effort.

“Jones? You haven’t left yet? You have your key…” He stopped short when he fully took in Fred’s expression. It was confusing– weighted with a strange sorrow and arousal of the most atypical sort. Kent felt a sigh leave his lungs; the kind of sigh that mimics the wind with uncanny ability. Fred stepped forwards.

“I was thinking, maybe… I could stay here, tonight?” Kent gaped at him like a fish. There he went again, bringing up what he was sure was taboo without saying the word at all. The tired excuse was already forming on Kent’s lips–

“ _I’m_  not ready yet.” Fred was right on top of him now, frozen by Kent’s words. Kent turned his frantic gaze to the floor. He couldn’t look at him.

“I-I’m not ready yet,” he repeated. “I don’t think I ever will be. Jones, I told you, I’m not good for you–”

“It’s Fred,” Fred corrected. “If you’re going to talk, call me Fred.” Kent closed his mouth and turned his gaze back to him slowly.

Softly, he kissed him.

Tenderness had not been a prominent aspect of their physical relations. Every kiss sought to be something rough, something overly tangible. Kent couldn’t understand why. At his core he was a gentle partner. Or at least he had been that way with the women he had dated…

The kiss did not remain soft for long. Soon they were grabbing at one another, breathing heavy and red faced. Neither could pinpoint when they had landed on the bed, or when Fred’s shirt had come half undone and revealed taut skin in a sliver. Kent did not care. He held him close as if he were liable to fading away. He wanted him, everything else be damned.

Evidently Fred could tell. The emotions Kent felt were palpable, lingered on his lips. Fred gasped and Kent rolled his tongue against his. Both of them squirmed; the sensation was utterly new for the both of them. A kiss so deep had never happened between the two. Kent savored the way Fred tasted. He shut his eyes. God, he was–

“U-Uh…” Fred broke the kiss with a look Kent attributed to reluctance and glanced down at their tangle of legs. Kent turned red when he realized what had surprised him. An awkward layer descended upon the mood. The only thing that saved it was curiosity.

“You can… Go ahead,” Kent panted, gaze flickering between Fred’s face and Fred’s hand. The blonde was understandably hesitant; but with another rare show of gentleness he pressed his hand up against Kent’s stiff crotch.

Kent didn’t expect something so tentative to feel so good and moaned. Loudly.

“I-I–” That was criminal, he thought. That was  _ridiculous_. But everything with Fred felt that way. Bewildering. Exciting. He heaved another breathy noise. Was this because they were so-called soulmates? Or merely because he hadn’t been treated in this way long enough to make himself sensitive?

There was no time to think about it. Fred made sure of that, giving Kent a gentle squeeze through his boxers. He squirmed and gasped, head lolling back slightly.

“Can I…?” Kent registered great hesitation in Fred’s voice and turned even redder.

“Yes,” he responded. “But just–”

Too late. Fabric was tugged down and soon Kent was bare-legged. He was tempted to cross his legs out of embarrassment. This was starting to be too much for him.

Gently, Fred touched him there again.

“A-Ah…” Kent shuddered and pressed against him and shut his eyes tight. Fred was still careful, wrapping his fingers delicately around him. His hand was calloused in patches on his palm and on the edge of his thumb, brushing up and down… Kent pressed his lips into a thin line and breathed heavy through his nose. He knew why; Fred still carefully crafted traps and the skin of his hands tended to turn rough.

It was starting to hurt; the callouses were harsh against Kent where they brushed against him, but he allowed it. He whimpered (he  _whimpered_ ) and pressed his forehead against Fred’s gently. The pain felt  **good**. He knew why. It was because those callouses belonged to  _ **Fred**_ , the person he’d come to appreciate and lov–

“Do you… Do you want me to go faster?” Fred asked. Kent’s breath hitched as he struggled to respond.

“W-Wait, you haven’t…” Reluctantly he moved a hand he had braced against the bed to grasp at the waist of Fred’s pants. The blonde made a noise of surprise, want, and confusion. He grasped at Kent’s wrist, and he shuddered with the sudden lack of warmth around his groin.

“Kent, you don’t have to,” Fred panted, words rushed. But Kent could tell that he wanted him to. With impatience imbuing his actions Kent had Fred’s legs as bare as his in half the time.

“Kent–!”

He didn’t know what he was doing. He wanted Fred; he wanted him more than anyone else he had been with. Kent would have sworn he was insane at any other point in time. But at the moment–

At the moment putting his mouth between Fred’s legs made sense.

He moaned and trembled as Kent licked, kissed, and suckled him. Fred mumbled his name on repeat. Every now and then he winced and Kent knew why; he was using too much teeth, Christ! he was careless. Losing himself in the motions like that was why, he knew, but it was the only way Kent could manage this.

Then he was lifted away by a weak hand. Kent was panting, pink in the face with his lips wet with saliva and  _something_  else. He was so dazed that he could not bring himself to complain when Fred gently pushed him against the bed’s headboard. With frenzied dexterity the blonde slipped close to him, legs coming to flank Kent on either side and leaving him pinned there. Not that he wanted to move.

There was a surge of warmth between the two of them. It made Kent’s breath hitch and he pressed closer to him. Chest to chest, hip to hip, they shuddered against each other.

Fred kissed him.

Kent’s eyes shot open wide, but he grasped the back of his head nonetheless. The taste had to be awful. Why would he kiss him?  _Why–_ Fred’s tongue was pressing against his once again and all thought was dimmed in his mind.

But through the haze Kent realized that Fred’s dominance was brought on by desperation. Guilt tugged at Kent’s heart. He hadn’t considered how neglectful he had been. Again, he proved himself to be nothing but rotten for him. With a weak moan against Fred’s lips he tightened his grip on his blonde strands and rocked against him, rubbing their pelvises together. Fred breathed heavy through his nose and returned the action with a grunt and a whimper.

Their motions were not perfect. They were awkward and clumsy, out of synch half the time, and misaimed the other. Physically it was not the best; but Kent knew now that they needed this. With that first kiss on the couch, spurned by jealousy, there had been no turning back.

“O-Oh…!” Kent pressed his forehead against Fred’s again and each one of his toes curled up. A breathy moan made him tremble. Fred had put a hand between their entangled limbs, appeasing the heat growing between them with skill that surprised Kent. They had stopped their desperate grinding against one another, but the pleasure didn’t fade. Stars briefly clouded Kent’s vision. He needed this, he needed  _him_ … A hand of his own darted down and grasped at the slick warmth that did not belong to him, and Fred cried out just the same.

“Agh, Kent, please, please,” he mumbled, voice rising. “I-I need that, please…” Fumbling, Kent did the best he could. Anything,  **anything**  to hear him like this.

Neither lasted much longer after that. Fred was loud; louder than he had ever expected him to be. And so was Kent. That feeling! It had him stiff, breathing heavy, eyelids fluttering, neck arched, hands tense, grasping, gasping, gaping, warm,  _ **warm**_ –

Then they were lying there panting and spent and unsmiling. Fred collapsed on top of Kent, who for once was quiet, only whimpering, and for once utterly aware of the apex of his bliss. The sheets were damp around them. Outside, crickets began their incessant buzzing chirps.

Kent shut his eyes. He wanted to say it. To say that he was sorry, that he understood, that he cared, that he  **loved**  Fred. But they hadn’t done this out of pure affection. They had not made love; they’d had desperate, needy sex. To say he loved him, after something like that, seemed wrong. He didn’t love this half-living, this half-affectionate situation. He loved _**Fred**_. But to say it now…

The overwhelming feeling to cry washed over Kent like sea foam. He felt so utterly confused, scared, and alone.

“…Jones,” he sighed, eyes still shut. Fred stirred a tad on his chest but barely moved otherwise. Kent released the vice-grip he had on his hair and sighed again.

“Fred,” he corrected himself. “We should clean up.” Their shirts had never come off and were sticking to their skin. Fred frowned minutely and closed his eyes; the only way Kent knew was because he felt his eyelashes brush against his thin tank top.

Fred didn’t have to speak for Kent to know he wouldn’t move. With a small grunt Kent weakly wrapped his arms around him. In the morning, he hoped, they could work things out.


End file.
